


And in the end, we'll be alright

by Loxare



Series: Gen Batfam Week 2017 [7]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Batfam Week 2017, Gen, Prompt: Father's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 14:14:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11315091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loxare/pseuds/Loxare
Summary: Bruce thought this day would forever remind him of what he had lost. Eventually, he finds that he was so very wrong.





	And in the end, we'll be alright

It was Father's Day, as it was on the third Sunday of every June. On this particular Father's Day, the midday sun had burned away all the early morning clouds, leaving the sky a pristine blue. Birds sang in the trees in the garden, and butterflies flitted from flower to flower. A cool breeze rose off of the bay, taking the worst of the sun's heat away with it. In short, a perfect day.

Bruce hated it.

He rotated the fountain pen in his fingers, glaring at the perfect sky and perfect day. He would have preferred a storm, with dark clouds stretching from horizon to horizon. Howling winds, crashing thunder, rain so thick it was almost a solid sheet of water. Waves so high the tips of their whitecaps could be seen peeking above the cliff at the end of Wayne Manor's grounds. A storm would be more in line with his emotions than the sunshiney perfection that was today.

The fountain pen stilled in his hands. Bruce curled in on himself, tucking his knees to his chest and resting his hands on them so he could hold the pen to his face. The pen he had gotten his father for Father's Day last year. The pen that Thomas Wayne had loved for its weight, the smoothness with which it put ink on page, but mostly because it had been a gift from Bruce. Thomas had had many pens, but Bruce had given him this one. And now, the ink cartridge was dry, and when Bruce had picked it from its holder hours and hours ago, it had been coated in a fine layer of dust. But he had brought it with him, to the balcony outside of his parents' room, and polished it with one of Alfred's cloths.

Mother's Day had been rough too. That day had seen him in Martha's closet, staring at the scarf he'd given her the year previous.

Thomas and Martha had always, despite their busy schedules, spent Mother's and Father's Day with their son. They'd also made sure to be home in time for Tuesday roast. Tuesday, because weekends were always busy at the hospital. Martha had taken Bruce to the office every Thursday, so he could get used to the atmosphere of the place. Thomas had answered every question Bruce had about medicine, no matter how gruesome. And now, he would never see them again. Never hear their voices, never laugh with them, be scolded by them, never again.

And while Bruce knew that he would have happy days again – no matter how sad he was now, it was impossible to stay like this forever – he would never again have a happy Father's Day.

Alfred left him until supper time. Bruce ate little, and went to bed crying.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Bruce was awoken when a tray clattered onto his bedside table. Only his quick reflexes prevented the glass of orange juice on top of it from toppling over. Dick retracted his hand, already halfway to the glass, then smiled brightly at Bruce. “Morning! I brought breakfast!”

Bruce used his free hand to rub at his eyes. “Breakfast, huh? What for?”

“It's Father's Day silly!” Dick started pushing at Bruce, trying to get him to sit up. Grumbling, Bruce complied. It was much harder than it should have been. He'd only gotten – he checked the clock – three hours of sleep, thanks to a Scarecrow sighting that had turned out to be a homeless lady in a floppy hat. Once he was upright, Dick grabbed the tray and dropped it in Bruce's lap.

Grabbing the orange juice again and setting it aright, Bruce looked over at his ward. “But we've never celebrated that before.”

Dick's smile lost a bit of its luster. “I know. I just... if you don't want to...”

“No!” Bruce reached forward, trying to grab Dick's shoulder, to reassure him. The tray shifted at his sudden change in position, and he had to scramble to save the orange juice. Again. He moved the tray back to his bedside table, then dropped a hand on Dick's upper arm. “I do, and I'm very happy that you want to. I'm just wondering what brought this about.”

He patted the spot beside him. Dick took the hint, climbing onto the bed and making himself comfortable. “You should eat that before it gets cold,” he said, pointing at the food.

Smiling, Bruce grabbed the tray and put it back on his lap. He took a bite each of the slightly burnt pancakes and floppy bacon, then turned to Dick. “Are you going to wait until I'm done, kiddo?”

“No.” Dick swiped a piece of perfectly cut melon from Bruce's plate. “You know how Ezra in my class has two dads?”

Bruce did know. He'd done a thorough background check on each of Dick's classmates and teachers. “Yeah.” He cut into his egg, sopping up the overly runny yolk with his toast before it could get on the fruit.

“Well, I thought, if he can have two dads, so can I. I'm not going to love Dad any less because I have another dad. And since you've been dad-ing me for the past three years, I thought it was probably time I thanked you for that. And for, you know, getting me out of juvie and feeding me and making me Robin and-”

Dick was rambling, so Bruce cut him off. “You're welcome Dick. And thank you.”

“For what?”

Bruce ate another bite of pancake. “For being you. You have made every part of my life better since you've come into it.” He wrapped an arm around Dick's shoulders and pulled him in for a half-hug.

“I made the breakfast you know.”

“Oh, I can tell.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Morning Alfred.” Bruce walked into the kitchen with a yawn. “What's for breakfast today?”

“Good morning sir. The usual.” Alfred sat a plate in front of him as he took his seat. He unfolded the paper on the left side of his plate, so he could eat and read at the same time. Alfred stood there for a few minutes, then cleared his throat. “Master Bruce?”

Bruce looked up at Alfred, surprised. Alfred almost never interrupted him when he was reading the paper. Probably because if Bruce was reading the paper, he wasn't out being dressed like a bat and getting stabbed, and that was behaviour Alfred wanted to encourage. As he did so, he noticed Jason, peeking out from behind the door that led to the kitchen. “Yes Alfred?”

“If you would be so kind as to look under your newspaper?” And then, so quietly that Bruce wasn't entirely sure he'd hear him correctly, “World's greatest detective my British posterior.”

Bruce lifted an eyebrow, and then the paper. Directly under it, in a bright green envelope that he had somehow missed, was a card. “Bruce” was written on the cover in shaky, but improving print. Picking it up, he flipped open the flap and pulled out a card.

It was a generic Father's Day card, but a nice one. Not from the dollar store, which was odd for Jason. He flipped it open, ignoring the pre-printed text in favour of the words written in the same hand as the envelope. “Hey Bruce, Happy Father's Day and all. Thanks for taking me in. I know I can be a pain in the butt, and I'm sorry about that.” The next bit had two lines running through it, scratching it out. “I'm pretty sure you won't kick me out, which is nice.” And then the handwriting got a bit hastier. “I didn't mean to write that, sorry! And now I messed up the card and there's no time to go get a new one. I'm sorry, Father's Day is about you, not me and my stupid insecurities. I wanted to thank you, for taking me in. You're a really good dad, much better than Willis, although that's not really a good comparison. A moldy shoe would be a better dad than Willis. But you feed me, and make sure I'm dressed warmly, and always ask me how my day went, and help me with my homework. So thanks Bruce, for being my dad.”

As he read, he kept an eye on Jason in the doorway. Every once in awhile, he'd start tapping his fingers on the door, then disappear for a few seconds. When he returned, it was sudden and with a look in his eyes like he was expecting Bruce to have vanished.

Bruce folded up the card and carefully put it back in the envelope. He'd ask Alfred for a frame for it later. For now, he stood up and walked towards his son. Jason opened the door fully and stepped into the doorway, tense and wary. Bruce crouched in front of him, raising his hand slowly so he could tousle Jason's hair. “Thanks chum. And for what it's worth, thanks for being my son.”

Jason looked vaguely stunned, like he always did when he reached out and didn't get punished for it. “It's worth a lot Bruce,” he mumbled.

Bruce quirked a smile. “So, any plans for the day?”

“I was thinking a movie. And then I'm going to make dinner. I've been practicing with Alfred all week.” The last sentence was said quickly, defensively, as if he wanted to reassure Bruce that he wasn't going to accidentally poison him.

“I'm sure I'll love every bite.” Bruce stood up, leaving his hand slightly to the side in invitation. Tentatively, Jason took it and Bruce led him to the table. “Now, let's get you fed. Not too much though. Have to leave room for popcorn.”

“Don't worry, I can eat a lot of popcorn.”

Alfred came in with Jason's plate, filled with even more food than Bruce's had been.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The box appeared without warning. Normally, that was no big deal, as Bruce understood that people moved things from place to place and tended to leave them lying in weird places. However, this box was in the Batcave.

It was small, just big enough to fit snugly in the palm of his hand. It was wrapped in black paper with a yellow ribbon. There was no attached note, and no indication as to who had left it. So, he started the usual tests. There were no odd gases inside, not that the box was air tight anyways. No radio signals were coming or going from the box, and while a scan did reveal metal on the inside, none of it was electronic. With a raised eyebrow, Batman opened the box.

Inside was a polished batarang, the edges filed and sanded until they were perfectly blunt. When Bruce lifted it out, he felt something on the back and flipped it over. A tie clip had been welded to it, with a note clipped to it. He pulled it out and opened it.

“Bruce,” it read, in Barbara's handwriting, “I'm writing this for Cass. She found out last week what Father's Day was when she saved a family on their way back from dinner from getting mugged, and she's been working on this ever since. Oh, and the unmarked box thing was intentional. We needed a few extra minutes to get set up. So if you could go to the Twin Tree Dinner Theater, that'd be great.” And then, near the bottom of the page in the untidy scrawl of someone still learning to write, it said, “Happy Father's Day.”

Batman smiled slightly, then jumped back in the Batmobile. Thankfully, the Twin Tree was only ten minutes away. He parked near the main entrance. A small velvet bag hung on the door, with a tie and a note that said, “This is a formal event Batman.” Obligingly, he slung the tie around his neck and knotted it in a Windsor. Then, he clipped the tie clip to it. It probably looked very strange with his cape and cowl.

Inside, Cass was sitting on the stage, doing stretches. She was in her Batgirl suit, but the cape was missing and the belt had been replaced with a bright yellow tutu. When she saw him enter, she leapt off the stage and ran towards him, grabbing at his arm. “This way.”

He let himself be led to a seat near the front. She rolled the chair away from the table and waited for him to sit, then pushed it back in. He sat back, enjoying how comfortable it was. Maybe he should get one for the study.

Cass raced to the side of the room, ducking through a door and returning with a covered tray. She placed it in front of him and uncovered it. The familiar smell of Alfred's roast beef immediately filled the area, causing his stomach to rumble. Patrol always made him hungry, no matter how short. She waited until he had stuck a forkful of mashed potatoes in his mouth, then hopped back on stage and went to the back.

After a minute, the house lights dimmed. If it weren't for the small candle on the table so Batman could see his food, he would have been in complete darkness. Then, a spotlight appeared, illuminating Batgirl who was standing center stage. A slow tune in a major key started playing.

And then Cass started dancing. And Bruce was mesmerized. The analytical part of his mind noticed that she had combined parts of ballet, hip hop, modern dance, and at least three other dance styles that he recognized but wasn't familiar enough with to name into a single cohesive dance. But the analytical part was pushed over within the first thirty bars of music in favour of appreciating every part of the dance.

And she was breathtaking.

When the performance was over, and Cass went backstage, and the house lights came up, he looked down at his plate. Except for that one bite of mashed potatoes, everything was untouched and cold. He cut a square from his roast. Better to eat it now. Alfred's roast was delicious, even when cold.

He had just finished when Cass and Barbara walked and rolled up to him, respectively. He stood to meet them, clapping a hand on Cass's shoulder. “Batgirl, that was amazing! When did you learn to dance? And how?”

“By watching. People at parties, people in clubs, people like to dance.”

Barbara snorted. “She's snuck into eight different ballets in as many months.”

Bruce just smiled. “We'll have to see about getting you some dance lessons then.” And maybe he'd get her tickets to the Paris Ballet next time they were in town.

Cass just smiled at him, the expression clear even through the fabric of her mask. She wrapped her arms around him and he stood shocked for a second before wrapping his around her. “Happy Father's Day Batdad.”

He smiled. “Thanks Batdaughter.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Bruce found one of them when he was going through Tim's room, looking for his laptop so he could get the Ricker case files off of it. Tim had said it was on his desk, but so were his textbooks, his old computer, his camera, about a million pictures, random WE paperwork, and eighteen packs of gum. Tim didn't even chew gum, but there they were.

He ran a hand through his hair and started going through the drawers. In the bottom drawer on the left, was a clear plastic box with a watch in it. He pushed it aside, accidentally knocking it over. And then he noticed the word “Bruce” engraved on the back.

Curious, he opened the box, tugging the watch off of its holder. On the back, it said, “Happy Father's Day Bruce,” in elegant engraving.

But Father's Day had been four months ago, and the watch that Tim had gotten him had been accidentally smashed in a fight with some villain or another. Maybe this was for next Father's Day. It wouldn't surprise him. Since last Father's Day hadn't turned out like Tim had wanted, preparing for the next one eight or more months in advance was exactly what he'd do. Bruce wiped his prints from the watch and the box and set them back in the drawer, closing it. He'd have to act surprised, but it would be worth it to see Tim's face.

He eventually found the laptop under the bed. And believed that to be the last of that.

Until Bowman's Jewelers called, a month later. “Hello, is Mister Drake there? We're calling to inform him that his watch is ready for pick up.”

Bruce frowned into the phone. “What watch?”

“The one he purchased from us last week. Apologies for the long wait. Our engraver was on a family holiday.”

Confused, Bruce said he would relay the message and hung up. Then he went upstairs. Sure enough, the watch that he had seen in Tim's desk was still there. He raised an eyebrow. Perhaps this new one was for Alfred. He fished his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed the Teen Titans private line.

Later, with Christmas just around the corner, Bruce's packages arrived at the doorstep. He had bought a beautiful ammolite necklace for Selina, but had wanted the setting to be changed. The jewelers obliged, saying they would deliver it posthaste.

Inside the bag were two boxes. One contained the necklace he'd ordered, the setting curving around the ammolite and making it look like a beautifully stylized cat eye. Not something Selina could steal from a museum, he noted with a smirk.

He assumed the other box was a gratuity gift and opened it without really looking at it. The other box contained a watch. He flipped it over and on the back it read, “Happy Father's Day Bruce.”

Bruce glared incredulously at the watch. Then he packed up the box, erasing any indication that he'd opened it. As he did, he noticed a note taped to the side. “Dear Mister Drake, here is the item you ordered.”

So Tim had ordered another, very different, watch from the same jeweler that Bruce had gone to. Except that Bruce hadn't told anyone what he was getting for Selina, or that he was getting her anything at all, so it had to have been a coincidence. And the jewelers, being decent and also very busy people, had dropped off both packages at the same time.

When he checked Tim's desk, yes, the first watch was still there. Bruce sighed and went back to planning what to get Ivy and Hatter for Christmas.

When Father's Day did finally roll around, Tim handed him a single box. Inside was a watch, obviously different than the other two and with the words, “Happy Father's Day Bruce,” engraved on the back. Bruce was very happy to receive it, and genuinely surprised, although not for the reason Tim thought.

“Yeah,” Tim said, rubbing the back of his neck every time he felt the need to explain something that didn't need explaining, “I ordered about eight watches from different jewelers over the course of the year. You know, after last year, better safe than sorry. But most of them broke accidentally. That's the only one that survived.”

“I love it.” He strapped it to his wrist, admiring the large watch face and the contrast of the black leather strap on his skin. “Did you keep the broken ones?”

Twenty minutes later, seven new watches sat in the trophy room next to the watch from last year. Three were smashed, two were half melted, one had severe water damage, and one was running counter clockwise. But Bruce loved how much effort Tim had put into getting them all, and he wanted to remember that.

(Also, the counter clockwise one was kind of neat. He ran it under several scanners and for all intents and purposes, it should be running correctly.)

  
  


* * *

  
  


Bruce opened a bleary eye. He was laying on his stomach, staring at a pair of socks sitting on the other pillow. The socks had feet in them, feet that he followed up to a knee, and then to his youngest sitting on his headboard. “Father. Good, you're awake. Please get dressed forthwith. We have a very full day ahead of us.” And then Damian jumped off the headboard and ran out the door.

With a groan, Bruce sat up, and then got up and dressed. When he finally made it to the kitchen, Damian was standing at the island, putting the finishing touches on the breakfast sitting there. It was waffles and fruit, and even from a few feet away, Bruce could see the glimmering perfection of it. The fruit had been cut into exactly even sizes and placed at even intervals around the dome that was the whipped cream. “Hello Father. I have prepared breakfast for you.”

“I can see that.” He sat down across from his son. Damian's waffles had the same fruit and whipped cream as Bruce's, but the cream was simply spooned on and the fruit was cut less perfectly. Bruce cut into his waffles and took a bite. “You said we had a lot to do?”

“Indeed.” Damian pulled out a list. “I have done much research on the subject of Father's Day and have come up with a list of activities for us to do together. The three of them combined should take most of the day.”

Bruce took another bite. These were really tasty. “Alright. So what's first?”

“Paintball.” Damian slid a brochure across the table. “We are competing against four other father-child teams. I suggest we take out the Davidsons first. They cheated and are bringing two children.”

The Delta Force Paintball Range did a Father's Day competition every year, according to the brochure. After breakfast, Bruce drove them down, despite Damian's insistence that he could do it. Once they got suited up in their vests and safety goggles, they waited with the other four families to be let in.

Despite his reservations against them, Bruce did know how to use a gun, and use it well. Together, he and Damian ducked around obstacles and took out the competition one by one. Between their stealth training and ability to climb obstacles that would stump anyone less fit than them, it was an easy victory. The Davidsons did indeed go down first.

Their reward for winning was dinner from Manny's Pizzeria for the two of them. After they collected their coupon (which would be presented when they arrived. They could order whatever they wanted, and Manny's would give the bill to Delta Force. Obviously, don't eat them bankrupt, and it was for the two of them only), Bruce drove them to Crash Course Go Karts.

Bruce enjoyed himself much more than he thought he would. The go karts were much lower to the ground than he was used to, and much slower, but he and Damian got into a race. First person to a hundred laps would get ice cream from the loser. Bruce would like to say that he let Damian win, but that would be a lie. He had intended to, definitely, but Damian ended up beating him fair and square.

They got ice cream from the vendor next to the track, and ate while they watched go karts zip by. They did one more lap of the track, and then left.

“Oh, it's raining.” Bruce stuck his hand out, catching a few drops on his palm. Good thing he'd parked close by. “It's really coming down. So, Damian-”

He had been about to ask Damian where to next, but Damian was looking at the rain with a mixture of hopelessness and fury. “No! It can't be raining! If it's raining, then the car show will get canceled!”

Car show? “That's fine.” Gotham car shows normally lasted a week, from Sunday to Saturday. Which meant that today was the first day and they'd have plenty of time to go later in the week.

“No, it's not! Today has to be perfect!” Damian's lower lip was quivering, his eyelids scrunched up like he could will the tears growing in the corners back into his ducts.

“Damian? What's wrong?” Damian did like cars, but not enough to cry over missing them. Bruce knelt next to his youngest son, grabbing his shoulder.

“I...” Damian's breath caught and a tear slid down his face. He scrubbed at it furiously. “It's our first Father's Day together. It needs to be perfect. It has to be.”

And Bruce pulled Damian closer, cautiously. The boy was still hesitant when it came to hugs, which made sense considering how Ra's had raised him. “And it has been. I'm sorry I wasn't there for the first ten Father's Days. I know how much work you put into this. But today isn't ruined because of one rain storm. And really, while going to the car show would have been great, I'd much rather get a pizza with you and talk. Get to know you better.”

Damian sniffled into his shoulder. Tension that Bruce hadn't noticed he'd been carrying melted away. “Really?”

“Really. I have a lot to catch up on.”

Damian nodded, and his hands ghosted across Bruce's back briefly before moving to his chest and pushing him away. Bruce moved smoothly with the push, stopping when Damian was a little less than arm's length apart. “Now come on. Let's see how Manny's Pizzeria holds up against two hungry vigilantes.”

A predatory smile crossed Damian's face. “They don't stand a chance.”

 

 

* * *

  
  


Alfred was sipping tea in the drawing room. For Father's Day, Bruce had promised to take care of the children so that Alfred could have a break. So far, four shrieks of varying degrees of terror and two crashes of broken glass had filtered through the manor. Which was much better than he had expected so far.

A quiet knock sounded at his door. “Hey Alfred.” Bruce entered with a covered tray. “Just bringing you some lunch.” He placed the tray on a nearby table and lifted the cover.

“Indeed?” Alfred looked at the tray dubiously. Bruce, for all his talents in crime fighting, could screw up a tuna salad sandwich. Once he had gotten so engrossed in a case that he'd forgotten he'd put on a pot of water for soup. Two hours later, the water had all evaporated, the pot had been ruined, and a circular scorch mark had been burned into the counter where Bruce had dropped the lid onto it.

Bruce saw the look on his face and said quickly, “Jason helped me, and Dick.”

That was reassuring. Jason could cook nearly as well as Alfred himself. And while Dick was rather hopeless with the fancier meals, he could put together a very delicious sandwich. Alfred set his book to the side and grabbed one of the sandwiches. Bruce sank into the chair next to him with a sigh. “That's a good sign Master Bruce. I take it the children are behaving?”

“Oh, of course they are.” Bruce sank deeper into the cushions. “Duke is the only one of them who hasn't given me a headache yet, but I saw him whispering with Tim and Steph, so that's probably going to change.” As soon as he said it, another crash sounded through the house. “I'll get it.”

Before leaving, Bruce turned around, one hand on the door handle. “Happy Father's Day Alfred.”

Alfred gave Bruce a small smile over his soup spoon. “And to you sir.”

  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> Aw Bruce.
> 
> Written for Gen Batfam Week, for the prompt Father's Day, obviously. Oh, and the Tim segment references a comic issue (Robin 163 for the curious) where Tim gets an engraved watch for Bruce but it gets destroyed. I headcanon that since it was unwearable, Bruce stuck it in a trophy case so he could remember it.


End file.
